


When your heart is broken a 1000 times

by SketchLockwood



Category: 15th Century CE RPF, Historical RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-23 04:07:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21313912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SketchLockwood/pseuds/SketchLockwood
Kudos: 3





	When your heart is broken a 1000 times

The Palace of Westminster  
Late March 1483

Her eyes fluttered open. Her mother stood at the end of her bed. “Cecily.” She spike sternly. “Get up and come with me.” Her mother looked to one of the ladies who had followed her in. “Leave us, I will get her dressed.”

Cecily spun her legs over the bed, standing. Her mother looked perfect. Her hair looked like she had not seen her bed. Her dress was untouched. 

The princess was grateful for her mother’s attention, even as the Queen pulled hard on the strings of her dress making her body shake. 

“What time is it?”

“Two o clock. Now you will come with me.” Her mother spoke firmly, taking her hand with a gentle grip. Cecily smiled to her sister as Elizabeth joined them. “Come now girls.” 

She walked ahead of them, out of their rooms and into the corridors. The corridors lit unusually bright. Servants hurried, carrying sheets, carrying blankets,bed pans, wood for the fire. 

“Mother?” Cecily whispered, running to keep up with her. “Why?” She stopped a moment looking st the door to her father’s apartments. 

As the door opened she followed her mother and sister in. The fires were lit, windows shuttered. She heard noise from her father, the Kings, bed chamber. Coughing. Endless coughing. Cecily stopped in the outer chamber.

“Move!” The voice was of James Hatfield, physician to the crown, followed by William Hobbes, her father’s chief doctor and surgeon. 

“I’m sorry my lady.” Hobbes uttered as he walked past. 

The doors opened and she saw the full scene, her father laid in bed, sweat drenching his skin. 

She followed her mother as they approached the bed. “Papa.” Cecily whispered, taking his hand. She heard his breaths were raspy. 

Christ no.

***

9th April 1483

She wasn’t ready. 

Not for this.

She had been told to leave, several times and ignored it. She could curse too many people. Only she and a handful of others now remained around that bed as her father lay motionless, eyes occasionally fluttering open before he groaned and returned to slumber. 

Her sister, Bessy, sat beside her, their hands clasped. Her father’s mistress was at the foot of the bed, massaging his feet gently to ease his pain. Will Hastings held his hand wincing sometimes as her father squeezed his hand. 

Yet her mother, where was she? She had abandoned him yesterday, as soon as the opportunity arose and there was not a tear in her eyes. Bitch.

She cursed them both, would make sure she forgave neither. 

She jumped up as her father spoke. “What are you both doing here?” His voice was so weak she barely heard it. Those few words she knew exhausted him.

“Papa don’t speak.” She wanted to cry, did not. It was not dignified for a princess to cry. He had told her that once. 

“You.” He wheezed, beginning to splutter coughs between each word. “Need to leave. Please. Don’t see me like this. Hobbes.” The coughs became violent, shaking his body. 

“I’m not leaving you.” She whispered. “And you’re not leaving me.”

She frowned as he tried to push her off the bed, his movements too weak. “Go.” Will uttered. “My lady, please go.” 

“But.”

“Cissy.” Bess pulled her arm. 

“Let go. Please papa.” She watched as his eyes closed and his last breath left his lungs. 

***

Windsor Castle

The funeral had happened. Her mother had acted so cold and aloof, as though the death of her husband meant nothing. As though the death of Cecily’s father should mean nothing. She did not try to comfort her children. Made no attempt. 

Her namesake grandmother had refused to attend. Cecily had cursed her for that. How could she be so cold? How could so many people be so cold. Bess had not cried, no, but the tears were visible in her eyes. 

Their father was dead. He was dead and no one, no one except them seemed to care.

“Let go of me!” Cecily shouted as the left the chapel, as a hand rested on Cecily’s shoulder. “Do not touch me.” She spun around. 

“Hey, hey.” John de la Pole, Earl of Lincoln was her cousin and chief mourner at the funeral. A funeral his parents failed to attend. “It’s alright. I noticed you’re alone and wondered if you’re needing assistance.”

“You’re the only one who seems to care, well except my sisters.”

“And Will Hastings.”

She snorted. “He only cares because he cannot have an excuse for his whoring now. That’s all my father was to him. An excuse.”

John frowned. “I’d not know enough of that if I’m honest. Who did you think I was? You looked ready to slap me.”

“And had you been anyone else I would have slapped you.”

“You know,” John frowned. “You should not let them get under your skin. I do not, like my father does not. Our father’s never got along, but that does not mean papa is not affected. Mother has lost a brother, she is truly devastated.”

“They get under my skin because they do not care. Mother is so cold she’s almost absent, grandmother, your mother? They do not attend for personal reasons they call them. I see no excuse for any of them, and I shall not forgive them.”

“Maybe they can’t face the truth, maybe it hurts too much but they cannot be allowed to show it. Much like you can’t.”

She’d show what she wanted. Whatever anyone said.


End file.
